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The East Coast wasn’t much to Cappy’s liking. He called one night and said you couldn’t even buy a 12 pack in New York City! He said, and I quote, "This place sucks! It’s cold. There’s nothing to look at but a bunch of trees with no leaves on them, and I haven’t seen a skate-boarder since I left California."

AN APPLE OF A WEAKEND PLANNER

A Cheerful Vibe Permeates the Cesspool, as the Inmates Spot a Light at the End of the Tunnel—the Gleam in Steve Jobs’ Eyes
 WEAKEND POPCULT TOP 10
1. I Came, iPod, I Conquered:
It took me 10 minutes to download the new iTunes4, including its complete conversion of my existing library and playlists. It took me less than six minutes to register and purchase my first AAC download (exclusive offering of Dylan's alternate take, "Everything Is Broken”—ironic in this case) and another 15 to download the conversion kit for my iPod so it could play the new track. The iPod conversion was slowed by my ineptitude. This clearly isn't just a download experience; this is a music shopping experience, complete with graphics, information and an excellent selection (try the Muddy Waters search). Above all, it was a user-friendly, affordable, meander tailored for the music fan, who, for the first time, is not being treated as an adversary by an industry-endorsed online service. Steve Jobs is a genius. —DA

2. A Mighty Wind (WB): Don’t let the naysayers turn you off to Christopher Guest’s loving mockumentary of the pre-rock folk scene, which offers just as many wacky characters and out-loud laughs as either Waiting for Guffman or Best in Show. Eugene Levy’s halting, near-catatonic Mitch Cohen is the Oscar-worthy highlight, his on again-off again reunion with Catherine O’Hara’s Mickey Devlin Crabbe at the climactic Town Hall concert to celebrate the legacy of promoter/manager Irving Steinbloom giving the film its narrative momentum and unexpectedly emotional finale. The songs themselves are so authentic the jokes and comic asides can’t even be absorbed on just one viewing. There are plenty of wonderful secondary characters, including Ed Begley Jr.’s Swedish public broadcasting producer who throws Yiddish phrases, perfectly used, into his conversation; John Michael Higgins’ prissy, color coordination-obsessed leader of the New Main Street Singers; Jennifer Coolidge’s hilariously clueless publicist, and Jane Lynch’s porn actress-turned-squeaky-clean folkie cum New Age acolyte. Guest’s fake documentary style may no longer be the revelation it once was, playing like an extended SCTV skit (and what’s wrong with that?), but the well-tooled ensemble’s seamless, poker-faced performances run both deep and delightfully shallow. —RT

3. Sony Legacy's Essentials Series: Box sets are cool—I can’t get enough of them. My collection sits grandly on a high shelf in my family room; looks good there, although I need to climb on a chair to get to it, and frankly, I rarely pull one down. The problem with box sets is they don’t travel well. What’s needed are concentrated career-spanning retrospectives, and that’s what Legacy is delivering, in two-disc portions that are generous and comprehensive without being overwhelming. They’ve gathered the greats—the Byrds, Leonard Cohen, Sly & the Family Stone (in a much-needed collection), Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and the Clash—plus near-greats Santana and Janis Joplin, along with non-rock figures like Thelonius Monk, Stravinsky and George Gershwin, the latter featuring an array of definitive interpretations. The Essentials concept works best with artists who’ve accumulated significant bodies of work, like those above. The single-disc sets devoted to artists of lesser stature are inevitably more mundane. You might question the accuracy of any Adam Ant collection being deemed “essential,” or the need to hear any Blue Oyster Cult song other than "Don't Fear the Reaper." But the ELO retrospective is handy, and Fishbone documents a fascinating if obscure mutation in the annals of SoCal rock and soul. Maybe one of these days, they’ll get around to giving Moby Grape, Mott the Hoople and Cheap Trick the Essential treatment. —BS

4. Led Zeppelin DVD (Atlantic Records/WSM): These recently unearthed performances include a 1970 show at London’s Royal Albert Hall and songs from the July 1973 Madison Square Garden appearance not included in The Song Remains the Same. There’s also footage from a five-night run at London’s Earl’s Court in 1975, as well as a gig at England’s Knebworth Festival just one year before the death of John Bonham broke up the band in 1980. The revelations come in the earliest footage, with 19-year-old, bare-chested, crotch-bulging Robert Plant and demonic guitar-slinger Jimmy Page still innocents, the solid rhythm section of underrated bassist John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham anchoring the bottom. We see the group literally turning the blues into da blooze as they invent what soon became the cliches of heavy metal, which are still in effect more than 30-odd years later. As the band matures, Plant grows hair on his chest and stomach, Plant’s guitar explorations get more and more diffuse, Jones is revealed as the group’s multi-instrumental secret weapon and Bonham ages 20 years in four, going through some of the most godawful haircuts in rock history. By the time they get to “Stairway to Heaven,” the entire enterprise seems bloated and self-conscious to the point of parody, but it’s never less than a riveting spectacle. The restored, remixed and remastered Dolby Digital 5.1 surround DVD comes out on May 27, which is also the release date for the three-CD How The West Was Won collection, featuring performances at the L.A. Forum and Long Beach Arena from June 25 and 27, 1972. —RT

5. Brooks & Dunn, “Red Dirt Roads” (Arista single): Conflict of interest be damned (this is HITS, after all). I realize this isn’t really y’all’s dance, but it’s pretty damn spectacular, both for the way it moves and the way it puts it all into perspective. Ronnie Dunn and Kix Brooks return from their critically acclaimed white-hot honky tonk treatise Steers & Stripes with their most evocative, personal, forceful anthem ever. Capturing the truth that both running and staying are valid if you'll be honest about what you really want, the man with the vocal chords made of lost nights, broken hearts and hellbent passion witnesses in a way that makes his very soul seem on fire. Mandolin-steeped, with a B3 churning and whirling, driving the slicing guitar riff higher and harder, the chorus hurls unstoppingly at you. "It's where I drank my first beer/It's where I first found Jesus/It's where I wrecked my first car, I tore it all to pieces/I learned that the path to heaven is filled with sinners and believers/Learned that happiness on earth, ain't just for high achievers…" You may never get to exult in the full tilt of this scorching witness; you may not listen to country radio or invest when the album of the same name drops in August. Regardless, these are still words to live by. —HG

6. KSUR 1260 AM L.A.: Mike Morrison IM’d me with the aforementioned dial position—and no accompanying explanation—right before the little woman and I headed out for Saturday night dinner. I had no idea what to expect as I tuned the car stereo to 1260, and I was surprised to hear Sinatra singing “Luck Be a Lady Tonight”… "Wait, that’s not, Frank, it’s somebody from the Frank School—it’s Steve Lawrence." It was love at first listen, as we discovered an inventive and wide-open programming approach that features, for example, Diana Krall following June Christy, with stuff like Johnny Mathis, Manhattan Transfer, k.d. lang, James Taylor, cuts from Joni Mitchell’s jazz album and Elton John doing Jerome Kern liberally interspersed with the Tin Pan Alley classics. And Nancy Sinatra is DJing once a week; her shift starts at 4 p.m. Sundays. The 58-minute commercial-free blocks are welcome, but the three-song back-announce sequences can be maddening if you arrive at your destination before they tell you who sang that song. If you have any interest in the Great American Songbook, you have to check this station out. —BS

7. The Rendezvous, Memphis: Dry rub ribs so good, John Hiatt wrote a song about 'em. Slow cooked. Deep flavors. Hot slow burn kinda spicy. With that mustard-based cole slaw, those yeast rolls that soak up the juice and extra sauce. It's worth the drive (or the flight) to sit in that room that hasn't changed in years... savoring the most carnivoric pleasure known to man. Then hit the Peabody Hotel for a drink, wander Beale St. and the smell the Mississippi on the breeze. —HG

8. That Seventies Spin: Music played this week during spin class at the Sports Center in Toluca Lake included Eddie Money’s “Two Tickets to Paradise,” Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way,” the Delfonics’ “Didn’t I Blow Your Mind This Time?,” America’s “Sister Golden Hair,” Elton John’s “Love Lies Bleeding,” Styx’s “Sail Away,” Todd Rundgren’s “The Last Ride,” Foreigner's "Draw the Line," Supertramp’s “Give a Little Bit,” Al Green’s “Love and Happiness,” Kansas’ “Dust in the Wind,” Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper." Steely Dan’s “Do It Again” and 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love.” —BS

9. L.A. Lemonade at the Sonora Cafe, L.A.: About as deadly and thirst quenching as they come. Imagine a margaritas without all the toxic bite. This is smooth, made with top end tequila and just what the doctor ordered for kicking back and watching the world go by. Bring a designated driver, though, because as Deana Carter and Matraca Berg wrote in the hushed ache of "You and Tequila": "One is one too many, one more is never enough." —HG

10. My Coachella Weekend: Two sun-drenched days and windy nights in the desert, and I wonder why I can barely function today. Scurrying between the Mojave Tent, Outdoor Theatre, the main Coachella Stage and the backstage area covers a lot of ground, as the frenetic pace of my Lacoste sneakers carved postmodern crop circles into the Empire Polo Fields. Plans to run in a pack with my dear friends Gaby, Lynn, Holly, Jenni and Lorraine were thwarted by intermittent cell phone service, although flying solo offered greater freedom to chase after The Hives. The combination of certain images and sounds from Coachella will have a permanent resonance: Danny DeVito rocking out to The Mars Volta; sunburn happily sustained during the completely genius set by The Polyphonic Spree; 40,000 kids heralding the triumphant return of the Beastie Boys; trying to eavesdrop on The Hives conversing with Soundtrack of Our Lives—in Swedish; jockeying with Jack White for Iggy’s attention; the viewing platform crammed with musicians gazing in awe at The Stooges; spotting old friend Tracy Bonham performing as part of the awe-inspiring Blue Man Group; the growing “buzz” around The Libertines; leaving at midnight on Sunday (Monday?) after Interpol’s perfect show. All of this: priceless. —IBA

WORLD STILL TURNING
Fleetwood Mac, Say You Will (Reprise):
The first sound you hear is that big, snapping snare, teasing the backbeat from behind. That sound could only come from Mick Fleetwood, and his trademark sense of time never wavers over 18 tracks covering 76 minutes, relentless and supportive as ever. ProTools can’t create these grooves—they’re irresistibly human—and the storied band’s new record is righteously old school. Remarkably, save for the departed Christine McVie, the trademark elements that once made the group Big Mac are fully present nearly three decades later on their triumphant reunion album: Lindsey Buckingham’s feverish acoustic picking and ferocious electric riffing; his anxious yelp abutting Stevie Nicks’ brooding alto; John McVie’s spare, emphatic bass lines; and those rolling midtempo songs, with their in-the-pocket grooves, thrilling hooks and shredding raveups. Buckingham’s “Bleed to Love Her” and “What’s the World Coming To” rank with his best songs, while Nicks has never done better work or sung more powerfully than she does on “Everybody Finds Out” and “Running Through the Garden.” And there’s more where that came from, much of it galvanizing. The album clearly would’ve benefited from the removal of a few tracks, Nicks’ lyrics are occasionally heavy-handed (“She was a silver girl/Trapped in a high-tech world”) and capable backing vocalist Sheryl Crow can’t make up for the absence of the honey-voiced Christine McVie. Furthermore, one friend who has heard the unreleased Buckingham solo album from which most of his nine songs have been derived prefers the original mixes. Maybe it’s not perfect, but Say You Will nonetheless is Fleetwood Mac’s strongest collection of songs since Rumours and its most sonically audacious recording since Tusk. With Buckingham in the driver’s seat and Fleetwood as the engine, this band continues to go its own way, and that’s cause for celebration. Bud Scoppa

AN ICON’S IDENTITY CRISIS
Madonna, American Life (WB):
She still makes better records than movies, and American Life at least shows her trying to spiritually "improve her life." The one-time media manipulator who was convinced diamonds are a girl’s best friend now no longer watches TV and has nothing but disdain for America’s obsession with gossip and materialism. But isn’t it a little late to reject celebrity after it’s already provided you with chefs, personal trainers, Pilates classes, Kaballah instructors, two children and your own British cult director husband. Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t come to bury Madonna, like so many others seem anxious to do. This is obviously Ms. Ciccone’s most personal album, recalling similarly soul-baring, self-lacerating works by John Lennon and Neil Young that also tried to reconcile the contradictions of mass adulation and maintaining a satisfying personal life. There are echoes of the downtown Patti Smith poet/Blondie punk-rocker in the self-effacing "I’m So Stupid," earnest compassion in the acoustic folk of "Love Profusion" and "X-Static Process," a dose of pop therapy in "Mother and Father." It’s just too bad that Madonna’s sense of entitlement sticks to her like one of collaborator Mirwais’ repeating techno scratches, as she worries aloud about strangers giving her a "social disease." There are some lovely melodies on American Life, an irony-free compassion and some welcome little-girl-lost vulnerability, but it can’t avoid the chilling effect of calculation. The onetime Material Girl-turned-soccer mom has been abandoned by both hipsters and wannabes, leaving her first and natural constituency—the gay audience that continues to support the careers of pop divas like Cher. Which isn’t a bad thing at all, as they’re incredibly loyal and passionately committed to seeing Madonna through her current identity crisis. She’ll always be an entertainment icon…for them. And isn’t that what becomes a legend most? Roy Trakin

IN THE CHANGER
Shawn Stewart, APD, KMTT Seattle
Beth Gibbons, Out of Season (Go Disc London):
Portishead goddess sounds like Dusty on acid.”
Jack Johnson, On and On (Moonshine Conspiracy): “Jack is a genre unto himself; folky AND funky.”
Steve Poltz, Chinese Vacation (Label: “Yours, if you’re smart”):Replacements meets Jewel with a TLC cover…how does he do it?”
The Jayhawks, Rainy Day Music (American/Lost Highway): “Because you can take the girl out of Minnesota, but you can’t take the Minnesota out of the girl.”
Notwist, Neon Golden (Domino): “For those of us befuddled by Radiohead post-OK Computer.”

SHINY ROUND THINGS
Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Fever to Tell (Interscope):
From the opening bars of “Rich,” it’s clear there’s more to this bassless New York trio than sheer rock abandon. That hunch becomes undeniable fact when the group’s more experimental, Sonic Youth-inspired art-rock side begins to roar. Singer Karen O infuses her captivating style with equal parts Chrissie Hynde and Bjork as she unwinds twisted lyrics like, “Boy you’re just a stupid bitch and girl you’re just a no-good dick” (“Black Tongue”), or “I got a man who makes me wanna kill” (“Man”), over organ-topped power chords, freight-train drums and feedback squall. Disarming closer “Modern Romance” (along with its companion hidden track) makes for a moody, contemplative finish. Thought-rock? Hell, yeah.
Jon O’Hara

The Cramps, Fiends of Dope Island (Vengeance): The first couple of crypt-kicking, punk psychobilly, ghoulish vocalist Lux Interior and guitarist/dominatrix Poison Ivy, have followed their musical/cultural passions obsessively over a cult-like career that has spanned more than 25 years. They were spinning their garage-rockin’ homages to EC Comics, low-budget horror movies and unsung regional rockabilly oddities long before it was cool, and their first of new material in more than five years remains solidly in that, ahem, vein. The Iggy-like Lux is still leeringly lovable, but it’s Ivy’s disparate axe stylings that make the band unique. From the noirish Dick Dale surf reverb in “Taboo” and the hiccupping Sun Studio vibe of “Oowee Baby” to the careening hot rod chicken race in “Wrong Way Ticket” that climaxes in a cloud of dust, the Cramps offer a timeless tribute to the trash aesthetic. —RT

Gemma Hayes, Night on My Side (Source/Astralwerks): The U.S. debut of this Irish singer-songwriter is an intriguing fusion of adult-leaning pop and guitar-heavy PoMo—a combination that turns out to be as satisfying as a hearty black and tan. Already decorated with praise and awards across the Pond, she looks poised to conquer stateside. Hayes’ expressive, nuanced singing surfs the dynamic swells with aplomb; her honey-and-smoke voice is rife with unaffected passion. She also plays guitar and keyboards and co-produced this impressive set (with fellow multi-instrumentalist David Odlum). The sturdy songs boast hooks aplenty, particularly the exhilarating rocker “Let a Good Thing Go,” the urgent but lovely “Hanging Around,” the plaintive “Back of My Hand” and the incandescent, rootsy “Ran for Miles.” Simon Glickman

CAPPY’S BOGUS ADVENTURE
Tapped & Sacked by Godsmack:
Alright. Alright. We’ll make this quick, cuz we don’t wanna bust his balls too bad, so let’s get right to it! As many of you know, former Reactor and current Broke Americans drummer Sean “Cappy” Topham was recently enticed by an offer to go on tour as a backup percussionist with the very cool and popular band Godsmack! Pretty fuckin’ cool, huh!

But, being the Asshole that I am, I have to admit that when he first told me, I was a little bummed/jealous that Cappy would be gone for three or so months, fulfilling all of my rock-star fantasies while putting our plans would be put on hold. Not to mention the guys my bro’ and I was definitely gonna miss partyin’ with him! But, after a night of drinking "Irish Car Bombs" with Cap down at Rockies, I felt much better about the situation. Sean assured me that he had no intentions of leaving the band and would be back around "June or so!" he said, He was gonna tour the whole East Coast, make a lot of killer contacts, party his balls off and get paid to do it! Stoneman and Tim were almost ecstatic for Seany Mac! Stoneman even told him that he should do whatever it took to hang on to that gig! He said, "Hey man, that’s the shit that we’ve all been dreaming about since we were kids. That’s the reason we came out here. Go out there and tear it up and don’t ever look back." It was a joyous moment! Our little boy was all grown up! Soon to be a rock star!

But it didn’t happen that way. They flew him out to Boston on a Sunday. He got his walkin’ papers on a Monday. What started out seemingly as a sure thing turned into an audition with a bunch of other cats. A lot of the other cats being experienced studio and fill-in-type musicians. First of all he says, he walks into the rehearsal/audition only to find out that there’s no drinking allowed at practice. He figures, OK! So they’re not the hardest partyin’ band on the scene, but he can deal with it. Fuck it! This is for all the marbles. The proverbial, key to the universe, baby! Yeah!!! Now we all know Cap’s an awesome drummer. I mean come on—the guy kicks some serious ass! But apparently timbales aren’t his forte. Personally, I gotta tell you, I don’t even know what a timbale is, much less how to play one. But then again, I’m not a percussionist am I? It must’ve been bad, cuz Cap didn’t even want to go have a drink at the hotel bar afterwards because the band’s whole crew was down there. But once again, we all know the cup is 1/2 full, not 1/2 empty, Sean "Godsmackilator" Topham!

He decided to make the best out of a dreary situation and visit his lovely sister Christina in lower Manhattan. Our friend Rich, who used to be his roommate, lived there too, so he figured he’d at least get to do a little partyin’! Unfortunately, the East Coast wasn’t much to Cappy’s liking, either. He called one night and said you couldn’t even buy a 12 pack in New York City! You can only buy six-packs, and even then each beer is individually priced. So a six-pack’ll run you about 10 or 11 bucks! He said, and I quote, "This place sucks! It’s cold. There’s nothing to look at but a bunch of trees with no leaves on them, and I haven’t seen a skateboarder since I left California. I can’t believe this shit is happening to me!" How the mighty have fallen!

Totally humiliated, Sean returned to L.A. a beaten and humbled man. But I gotta tell you, through it all, regardless of the heights he ascended to or the spoils of his success, he never forgot about us, the little people! I for one still love the guy, and I’m glad he’s back. Broke Americans need the Capilator. We need him like we need our second ball. Some of you girls out there might not get that reference but to a guy, having your second nut is pretty important! It’s not cool to be a uni-baller! Anyway, that’s the story. I wasn’t too sure about writing this ‘cause I didn’t want my boy Cap pissed at me. But, being the good sport that he is, he gave me the go-ahead. All bullshit aside, we’re glad you’re back, bro. Now let’s get back to work so we can give these people a show! —Trevor Mote

TRAKIN’S PICKS TO FLICK
X2: X-Men United (20th Century Fox)
Premise: Sequel to Marvel Comics tale of genetic mutants with extraordinary powers, as they take on (what else?) a threat to man- and mutant-kind alike.
Stars: Patrick Stewart, Hugh Jackman, Ian McKellen, Halle Berry, Rebecca Romijn-Stamos, Brian Cox, Alan Cumming and Bruce Davison
Director: Bryan Singer
, who did the first installment after critical fave TheUsual Suspects, looks to deliver the first blockbuster of the summer season.
Thumbs Up: Should dominate first-week box office, unless Hilary Duff pulls a major upset with Lizzie McGuire, and the first one was reportedly one of the most artful of the comic book superhero movies.
Thumbs Down: Its ability to convert the non-initiatives will tell whether it can catapult past $100 million into Spider-Man/Star Wars territory.
Soundtrack: Score album, with music by composer John Ottman, on Trauma (Eight-Legged Freaks).
Website: www.x2-movie.com enters you into an elaborate “database” which allows you to navigate and explore the various files on each character, download desktops, enter any number of contests, view film clips, see a trailer, info about the film, hot links and a place to buy tickets.

Owning Mahowny (Sony Pictures Classics)
Premise: Based upon the true story of the largest one-man bank fraud in Canadian history documented in the book, Stung: The Incredible Obsession of Brian Molony about a 24-year-old bank manager with a gambling problem and free control of a $20 million account, which he whittles down to $9 million within 18 months.
Stars: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Minnie Driver, John Hurt, Maury Chaykin
Director: Richard Kwietniiowski
after indie success of Love & Death on Long Island
Thumbs Up: Hoffman is never less than fascinating, Driver is light on the eyes and premise is intriguing.
Thumbs Down: More psychological drama than traditional caper.
Soundtrack: None, though music is by The Insects, along with Richard Grassby-Lewis and Jon Hassell.
Website: www.sonyclassics.com/owning/
provides a synopsis, production notes, cast and filmmaker information, a photo gallery and creidts in a rather perfunctory site.

The Dancer Upstairs (Fox Searchlight Pictures)
Premise: In ’80s Peru, an idealistic policeman pursues the Marxist guerilla leader who threatened to destroy a Latin American nation over the course of 12 years, eventually leading him to an encounter that changes his life, with an attractive dance teacher. Based on the book by Nicholas Shakespeare, who wrote the screenplay.
Stars: Oscar nominee Javier Bardem, John Malkovich (who makes his directorial debut), Laura Morante.
Director: Malkovich
Thumbs Up: Exotic locations include Madrid, Spain, Quito, Ecuador and Portugal, interesting cast, intriguing plot.
Thumbs Down: Advance word says More art than action?
Soundtrack: None.
Website: www.foxsearchlight.com includes cast, filmmakers, story, multimedia, message board, links.

The Lizzie McGuire Movie (Walt Disney Pictures)
Premise: Big-screen version of cable TV smash in which Lizzie goes to Italy for her summer vacation with her innermost thoughts represented as animation. While there, she meets a handsome Italian pop star who recruits her to become his singing partner and turns the unassuming American schoolgirl into a European pop sensation.
Stars: Hilary Duff, Adam Lamberg, Robert Carradine
Director: Jim Fall
(’99 gay comedy Trick)
Thumbs Up: Certain box office appeal.
Thumbs Down: Though not for anyone above the age of, say, 15.
Soundtrack: Walt Disney Records album already on the charts, featuring the Atomic Kitten, Cooler Kids, Jump5, Vitamin C, the Beu Sisters, Taylor Dane, Dean Martin, Cliff Eidelman.
Website: www.disney.go.com/disneypictures/lizzie/index.html has all the bells and whistles you might expect.

DENISE’S WEAKEND COCKTAIL
Everyone knows this great city of Los Angeles is a little sleazy—Ok, a lot sleazy. The casting couch is a common stop on your way to the top, which you know you’ve arrived at when you receive your first invite to a party at the Playboy Mansion. Los Angeles has become the reality dating TV capitol of the world: The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Mr. Personality, Rich Guy, Poor Guy (coming soon), Married by America, Blinddate, Extreme Dating, elimiDATE, Change of Heart, Meet My Folks, The Fifth Wheel, Star Dates—did I miss any? Girls are running around Venice Beach with itsy, bitsy bikinis barely covering their big fake ta-tas, while the guys are flexing their tanned biceps, trying to get the gals to notice them—the gals don’t notice, because they’re too busy looking for a celebrity. All of this craziness and nobody’s getting laid, making Los Angeles the horniest city in the nation. This week’s cocktail is dedicated to all of you horny bastards who could care less about love and are wishing you could just get laid—I feel your pain.

Slo Comfortable Screw Against the Wall Martini
3/4 oz. Ketel One Vodka
3/4 oz. Southern Comfort
3/4 oz. Sloe Gin
Shake with ice and strain into martini glass
Float Galliano and garnish with cherry

Can I have two of those? Have you ever felt like everyone but you was getting a little between the sheets action? Well, today’s you’re lucky day. Jessica Hudley and Jon Alain Guzik’s book Horny? Los Angeles (Really Great Books) has inspired me to help my no-booty-getting buddies. This sexy, little book is filled with over 350 bars, shops, pick-up joints and more, helping you discover an even sleazier side of L.A. Stop dreaming and start smutting it up. For those of you who decide not to play safe, there’s a whole section dedicated to free clinics—remember that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Tits & Ass: I thought I would get the attention of my dedicated male readers by leading with the two things that will hold a man’s attention almost as long as a sporting event—boobies and g-strings. If you’re into mud wrestling, check out Hollywood Tropicana on Western Ave. in Hollywood. Customers have bidding wars over the gals and then get to wrassle with them—no touching of their girlie parts allowed. Don’t want to get dirty, but definitely want to throw back a few overpriced drinks while watching bare-breasted hot girls grind for you, then head to Crazy Girls on La Brea in Hollywood. Even I received a lap dance on my birthday a couple years ago—it was on my scavenger hunt list, so I was a good sport and played along. The previous two places might be too risque to take your girlfriend, so if you still want to get a burlesque show without getting in trouble, check out one of the Pussycat Dolls shows. They will be back at the Roxy some time this year. Go to www.pussycatdolls.com for show info, and you never know which famous hot chick you’ll see on stage.

Birthday Suits Only: Although many Southern California beaches allow the “clothing optional” attitude, none of them are legally zoned as such. People are seldom arrested for stripping down and sunbathing, but some are occasionally ticketed. If that doesn’t worry you, drop your drawers, apply lots of sunblock and experience the freedom of nakedness on California’s “nude” beaches: Black’s Beach is located at the southernmost part of San Onofre Beach. Check it out at www.blacksbeach.com. Point Dume in Malibu is tiny but close—sometimes all nude and sometimes 50/50—keep your suit close just in case. Along with the nakedness, Abalone Cove in Palos Verdes also has great tide pools to observe some beautiful sea creatures. And finally, something for those of you who fear nothing—Naked City Los Angeles. Throw your inhibitions to the wind and take part in games such as Nude Chocolate-Pudding Wrestling during their Nude Olympixxx. Call (909) 926-BANG for directions—admission only $1 for single gals.

Whips & Chains: Everyone has that certain something that makes their toes tingle and heart race. Feel free to indulge during the annual Fetish Ball, which has gained national notoriety. Whether you prefer to dance the night away in one of the many theme rooms, or slither downstairs to the dungeon for a little spanking, candle wax and flogging. Check out www.fetishball.com for information on the next event. You’ll need a costume to wear to the ball and L.A. has plenty of choices for you: Redemption on Melrose, Rough Trade on W. Sunset Blvd. and Mr. S. Leather and Fetters on Melrose.

Bad Alcohol & Pick Up Lines : If naked beaches and leather and chains give you the wrong type of chills, and you’re looking for a tamer approach to the hook-up scene, don’t fret because there’s plenty for you. If you’re hoping to find (and take home) the next “hot” Hollywood thing, then check out these joints for a little star gazing: Dan Tana’s on Santa Monica Blvd. in West Hollywood, Bar Marmont on Sunset, the Firefly on Ventura Blvd. in Studio City or Joseph’s Caf on Ivar. If it’s action from a slick Hollywood agent or producer you want, try the Viceroy on Ocean Blvd in Santa Monica, the Polo Lounge in the Beverly Hills Hotel or the lounge at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. For those of you who crave more of the eclectic urban type, head to Los Feliz and throw a few back at the Drawing Room on Hillhurst, the Dresden on Vermont, the Good Luck Bar on Hillhurst or the Bigfoot Lodge on Los Feliz Blvd.

I hope I’ve given all of my sexless and horny readers a little insight to some of the smut available to you in this down and dirty city. If you’ve enjoyed this, definitely grab a copy of “Horny? Los Angeles.” Go to www.reallygreatbooks.com and find out how to get one. I guarantee you won’t be sorry. I already have a list of places I’m going to check out from it—maybe I’ll see you there.

I’m going to start something new in my column. Each week I’m going to have a Question of the Week. It can be about drinking, dating or basically anything fun and sexy, so be creative. I’ll print and answer one question a week from the e-mails I receive. So, click on my link and let the games begin. Until next week—hugs and kisses.
Denise Bayles

Contributors: Ivana B. Adored, Denise Bayles, Darren Cava, Karen Glauber, Holly Gleason, Simon Glickman, Mike Morrison, Trevor Mote and Roy Trakin

Edited by Bud Scoppa

 

THIS IS ANOTHER STORY ABOUT ADELE BREAKING RECORDS
Big news from the Spot. (10/15a)
KACEYGATE: ESQUIRE EVISCERATES THE GRAMMYS
This is getting ridiculous (10/14a)
ADELE BY THE NUMBERS: ALBUMS, SINGLES RTD
It all adds up. (10/13a)
GRAMMY CHEW: A ROTY/SOTY PLAYLIST
(20 FOR 16)
Beer and Glickman collaborate on the Spot. (10/13a)
30 HAS A DATE
Your Thanksgiving weekend soundtrack (10/14a)
ADELE ADELE ADELE
Adele; Adele Adele?
ADELE ADELE ADELE ADELE ADELE ADELE
A... dele?
ADELE ADELE
Adele Adele; Adele.
ADELE ADELE ADELE ADELE
(Adele.)
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